End Game: Witch Hunt.

[Tabarnac]

OOCTalen, Lucette, Sondra, Syllke, Galio, Caelum, Lysander, Cryos

If travel is searching And home what's been found I'm not stopping I'm going hunting I'm the hunter I'll bring back the goods But I don't know when - Björk - Timestamp: 77th Winter 511 A.V. morning It could be worse," Perras muttered to Theo, both their bows held with arrows nocked and at the ready, their eyes on the sky. "How's that?" he asked. "It could be dark. Or raining." "Aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" muttered the farmer, who was one of the better shots in Denval. They were part of the small group gone hunting for Suwor, the old magus who had retired to his little hermitage after recovering -- or so it was thought -- from a magical experiment gone wrong. He had been all but forgotten over the past few years, his daughter occasionally taking things out to him that he could not make or catch for himself. But Denval kept moving under the urging hand of Captain Astrid, building a Road, inviting scholars from Zeltiva, attempting to live and not just survive. Zagary walked ahead with Syllke, their insurance against impassible ice, and Talen, one of his usual partners on guard duty. They had found the bloody warning on the wall of the Road, though Perras had been with Talen when they faced the construct that persuaded poor Gemma Swyfte that it was her dead son, Mihai. The feline Lucette padded along at Zagary's side, alert for danger. Justus had told her that Zagary would watch over her and that she should obey him. Trailing behind was Galio, whose fur kept him warm and whose shuffling gait belied the strength and ferocity within him. Between front and back were Caelum-the-Sun-Singer, the stranger with the warhammer, Sondra, Lysander, Cryos, and various other Denvali best suited for extraction of Suwor or, at least, battle if it came to that. Many of them had strange shards of past life memories burning toward the surface of their identities. Many were marked by gnosis that had been twisted over the past few seasons. All were ready for the confrontation between Caelum and Suwor. All were ready to defend themselves.

[Talen Stirling]

He didn't like any of it. Talen's eyes wavered to the Cheetah next to Zagary, to the young Vantha close by and the foreigners behind them. He exhaled a little too deeply and let his eyes wander across the surrounding area, squinting to see if anything stood out in a moment of focus forced upon himself. His shield was on his arm rather than on his back as was usual, and his hand felt strangely misplaced without the sword resting in it's palm. Not that it wouldn't take but a moment to draw it, but he still felt uncomfortable. He cast a brief glance backwards again, lingering for a moment upon the different expressions and faces present. Some of which shouldn't have been here in the first place. He went back to watching the horizon, but it was indifferent to his spying and did nothing to change. He could feel his stomach turning upon itself, strangely nervous despite his dedication to the cause. He remembered all too well his past wife's pleas for him to stay, and what he had earned for his dutifulness to Denval. The road seemed to repeat itself, and it was hard not to remember how William too had taken the same determined steps. He had made the same promises to himself not to falter, not to fail... And then he had fallen with everyone else, torn asunder by the magic they had set out to capture. Talen shook his head and grimaced visibly, annoyed with his own line of thought. He looked at his companion's, perhaps in the hope of finding comfort in their closeness, but the memory of seeing Denvali soldiers ripped apart flashed into his mind's eye with brutal clarity. This wasn't heroic. This wasn't safe. They would have to be careful, and he wouldn't see himself and all of the others die in chaos again. "When we get there.. What is the plan?" He eyed Zagary questioningly for an instant, before resuming his examination of the road before them.

[Galio Keln]

Galio shuffled along in the middle the group, constantly sniffling and sniffing the air as if he had a cold. In truth he was searching for a scent. Anything out of the ordinary that could offset their goals. He was growing bored being in the back, there was nothing to do and no one to talk to. Not that he could really talk in his current form. It was just nice to be with someone and not off by himself. Yet he didn’t walk faster to join those in the front, nor did he slow to join those behind him. He kept a steady pace, staying in the middle, searching for danger with every intake of air. From here he could pick up what the others where saying, and amused himself by responding to them in his head. Of course no one would hear him, but the small distraction made him less nervous of their coming job. “Rain would be bad. Rain washes away smells. No tracking in the rain…Night would be good. I can see at night. But they can‘t so maybe it wouldn‘t be good…If you can't see you can't shoot...No, night would be bad.”

[Lysander]

Among a crowd of Denvali, walked Lysander.

Rather, Rees Llaenight, the slave boy, with his gawky gait and long skinny limbs, shock of mousey brown hair and an unremarkable face walked among a throng of Denvali and foreigners alike. His round browns darted from head to head. A plump lip was sucked beneath a line of teeth. They all seemed to have something to offer; they were all ready. He exhaled a cloud of white as two sets of lanky fingers kinked around a well-wrapped scarf.

Fate, the devilish thing it was, had plucked him from his modest home in Sitkanis’ absence—when the older Ethaefal could not object—and thrust him between the Denvali military’s best and a lumbering bear. He could not shoot a bow, or wield a sword, the very ineptitude that had killed him in another life. He could wrap wounds, apply tonics and poultices, and most of that knowledge was unreachable beneath an obscure fog of a past life, only made hazier by the emergence of a second, where a stone spoke to him at night on a dreary island. Why was he here? Was he some fodder, bait for what they were seeking? What use was he in the tiny village, let alone on the road? Gods only knew his only friend had turned on him, gone mad from the sea and evaded him save for awkward and forced exchanges throughout winter, so what was a dead foreigner to a greater cause?

A cloud of vexation went up in a bodily sigh and he tugged at the scarf that suddenly seemed to be choking him. The white vapor continued to trace swirling shapes in the cool air as he tipped his head in Sondra’s direction, and further, to give the Ethaefal on her far side a searching look. Sun-singer, sun-seeker? He’d heard people call the man Caelum among his other titles, but he only saw a guise his Father would not let him keep while Syna lit the sky. Lysander’s nostrils flared, and he forced himself onward.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke felt sick. This nausea that kept accosting him made it difficult to eat. It seemed all he could keep down was beer, or wine, or degatine. His diet was becoming liquid, with concomitant headaches in the morning, and more nausea. He was constantly cold, his fingernails often tinged blue and he felt like he would never be warm again. Syllke still had only the foggiest idea of why he needed to go with the others, not including Seo, of course, to accost some old mage who had something everyone wanted – or didn’t want – or something like that. He wished that Seo had been there when the others showed up, asking that Syllke go with them. Seo seemed to know so much more about all the craziness that had been going on - ever since that damned festival. On the other hand, every time Seo did talk about it, Syllke found himself feeling irritable – which was rare indeed for the generally easy going Vantha, especially when it came to Seo, with whom he had grown so incredibly close. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Seo and tell him to quit going on and on and on about this petched up magic and whatever it was that seemed to be messing with all of them. Seo seemed obsessed with it - Syllke just wished it would all . . . go away. Damn, it was cold. Silent and far more surly than he ever was normally, feeling sick and feeling very uncomfortable, Syllke trudged along, wrapping his arms about his chest to try to hug some warmth back into his skeletally thin body.

[Caelum]

Caelum felt the weight of that disturbingly cheerful sky as they walked. It was shouldered with hands not finding the comfort of his pocket despite crunching bite of snow beneath their feet, the gentle slap of the cold against the day. When approached for this mission, he had laid out warning for the dozenth time: he did not know why the Bright Lady had spoken his name, what it was She believed he could do when he had failed Her before. But yes, yes, he would come. Nikali's chains tugged at him beneath the beckon of Syna's sunbeams and he had met Sondra's eyes with ones surfacing from the fog of holy thrall. They had been grim with death's knowing. He looked away from the tree line when Talen asked about their plan, wanting very much to learn the answer himself. He had a matched set of long daggers in his boots and a composite bow borrowed from the Academy slung across his back, but he was poor form with either and knew it well. He was a healer and had ever failed to excel in martial arts. The wide eyed glance of the boy caught his attention. He tilted his head at Lysander, eyebrows rising in silent inquiry. The twitch of a typically sober mouth was gentle, however. "Are you well?" He spoke before thinking, the question directed at the rainbow eyed Vantha. The line of his shoulders, his pallor, it spiked against Caelum's subconscious until finally poking out here. He decided right about then that he was grateful for the massive, intimidating bear ambling in their midst.

[Sondra]

The pale Konti had met them with murmured greetings and curt nods. Thin Lysander was stared at for a moment longer, as if she could read the light in his iris. There was a compulsion regarding him she could not name, only drum her thoughts against. The more she stood amongst the group, though, the more she felt like a wolf in wool. She wondered if others knew the Unburning eras she hosted and if it would make her cheaper to them. If the day fulfilled any promise, they would all understand one another to the core soon enough. Little else showed the belly of a man like a fight. Caelum’s eyes were grim, but whether it was for the hunters or quarry, he failed to say. Instead, he let her pull meaning from the celestial fog about him. Eventually, Talen spoke the collective question of the somber party. It was never lack of plan that unsettled Sondra, but lack of purpose. The bulk of her mind was spent rifling through lives not her own. Ivak brought her emotions, Avalis histories, her gift sins, her mirror omens and her blood airs and tones. What was left for Sondra could only fix on crude wants and simple purposes. Plans were for richer minds. She treated her body like a golem, turning it with instinct and bidding it march. And she had seen good schemes buck the hands that held them, kicking in teeth and treading over the people they were meant to save. Her visions were full of those faces betrayed at the last by fate. They had a hitch of recognition and a twitch of agony. Some overcame it, others died in a rage. The life that scalded her from within, he had died impotent but unnervingly hopeful. His implacable hunger for better futures—it felt like faith and madness. She struggled to find the boundaries of each, but the forces were like grains of different colored sand, mixing and barely distinguishable. Her hammer was in her hand, swinging lightly at her side in an almost musical rhythm. She hummed without noticing, recalling the words to some surprisingly somber drinking song.

[Lucette]

She could smell them, these companions in various sizes and forms, that walked behind her. The scent of the bear and of the Konti clung to her nostrils most especially, for they were unfamiliar beings to the Kelvic. Lucette’s ears pricked forward and rotated, caught between the bear’s constant sniffing, and Sondra’s musical hum. The others she did not know, only Talen and Sylke. But Sylke… made the Cheetah uneasy. When Lucette had met him, memories long buried had resurfaced in his presence. They were shadowy, hurtful things – and a long ago trust had been betrayed. Carefully, her head turned to look at him for the briefest moment, noting his thinness before once more gazing ahead and to the road before her. Lucette did not know magic, and she did not know of Suwor, nor the magicks he possessed…. But Justus had said to go and the Kelivc went, content to do the man’s bidding. Zagary was her appointed keeper now, and she traveled next to him, ever alert to his movements and the meaning behind each one. Without him, she would have been lost… Justus in his wisdom had somehow known this. Talen spoke, and Lucette knew the voice without turning. It was the guardsman she had met one night, and she wished never to play such a deadly game with him ever again. But unlike the man, Lucette did not worry about a plan. Zagary would look after her. Zagary would alert her as to what she needed to know, or to do. The Cheetah was content with her place; she thought she needed no more than to have someone to follow to be happy. Her eyes stayed for the most part upon the their path, always her gaze remained forward, alert to movement, whether it be of animal or bird… or human. In her heart, Lucette wished to hunt, and the hour was almost upon her. A primitive fire burned in her belly and demanded attention though the Kelvic tried to ignore it. Still she walked patiently next to Zagary, each paw placed precisely just so. Impatiently the Cheetah mind wished to run, full speed and uncontained. Lucette’s ring tipped tail flicked back and forth in anticipation. It was the only part of her spotted body that did not show the unnatural, feline composure.

[Tabarnac]

OOCCryos hasn't gone yet, but I'm going to try to keep posting once per week so as to keep things moving at a steady clip. Cryos can jump in when he can, and I promise not to kill him until then. I kid! Or do I?

In fact, rain would be terrible for many reasons, some such as Galio knew, and also because the rain would melt the snow and freeze anew, not enough ice to risk a Vantha's weirdling connection with Morwen in this time of corrupted gifts. There was hope that a god would be with them if there came a time when those gifts would be useful, a Presence to banish whatever it was that was causing such disruption. Zagary sighed, muttered under his breath, "Talen, don't be such a bitch-squealer." But they had been calling each other such and worse for years now, and it was merely meant to shake off some of their nerves. Zagary didn't tend to show such, putting a blithe and amused face on at the deadliest of times. "When we get there," he said in a louder voice so their compact party could hear, "we will protect the Sun-singer of whom Lady Syna and Lord Leth prophesied. If he fails, Suwor dies." It was as simple as that, both the military certainty of the latter and the sure faith of the former. They said a man didn't become a man until his father died, forcing him to step into his big boy shoes and make decisions without the tightrope walker's safety net. Aquiras slumbered and had for centuries, and the Denvali faith had not wavered, but they had also acquired a faith in themselves, and this was why Theo had told his nephew that this was happening to Denval because they could handle it. Their company was small, as were those questioning Sela, one whose memories were not mere shards submerged in the ether, but those carried from one corpse host to the next. The bulk of Denval's garrison, which was to say its entire populace, was guarding Denval itself, for there had been Zith sightings and divine warnings since Summer and now Winter was come, the season of death, with rumors of wild Symenestra and other dangers abroad, as well as abominations such as Talen had fought in the dark, the thing that killed the grieving Gemma Swyfte. But there was little time for questions and answers, for nausea or boredom. Perras hissed, his bow held aloft and tracking a dark shadow. Quick as anything, Theo had it too, though it was too far aloft to be brought down by mere longbows. He began to scan the treelines, the ragged edges of escarpments, content in the knowledge that if the thing, a Zith to those who could identify one in flight, if it stooped upon them, Perras would introduce it to Dira. With the skies covered, Zagary crouched, his fingers digging comfortably into the ruff of fur around Lucette's neck. She needed rough handling sometimes, Justus had told him, because she respected strength and was tougher than she looked in her lovely human form. His eyes and those of the other Denvali were upon the ground and on eye level. The Zith would either be reconnaissance or a distraction or both. They could not afford to be sloppy or they would get dead. "I need your senses, swift one," he growled for her ears only. "Run to the treeline and back. We need to know what's ahead." "Damned flying monkeys," Theo muttered, but so far there was only the one positive sighting.

[Lucette]

Zagary mumbled… “bitch-squealer…” and the Cheetah raised her head in surprise at the odd description. But the man also said to protect the Sun-singer… and Lucette wondered why Caelum was in such need of protection. She knew that danger was in Denval. The whisperings in the streets and the Temple had reached her ears in both of her forms. Though most who visited the Kelvic wished to forget the troubles that assailed the small city, if only for a little so they talked of things besides their worries and fears. From hushed conversations Lucette had heard of the Zith, whom she had never seen, along with the Symenestra, the ones… unlike gentle Veldyrs… but it was hard for the slave girl to imagine his evil kin. Perras’ bow lifted, and Lucette’s eyes followed it upward into the sky. Her sight was strong, and she noted the shadowy thing. Tensing, her head tracked it, as it would a bird and the Cheetah’s shoulders lowered. But Zagary had hold of the loose fur at her neck. Immediately Lucette settled, dominated by the hold and of his presence. Unable to move, her wide, amber eyes rolled to him… but he looked off into the distance. Lucette’s gaze followed. Chittering excitedly in her well-muscled jaw, Lucette’s body trembled. Zagary needed her! “Run…” he said. The Cheetah sensed danger, especially after the sighting, but always there was freedom and joy in the sprint… and she would do as Zagary wished. Just as Justus had instructed… Muscles rippled beneath the hand that held her in check, and gripped her fur so tightly. Lucette would not go until Zagary released her. As his fingers drew back but a hair’s breath, the Cheetah’s head nudged against his hand in acknowledgement, in submission, and her entire body followed to lean into him roughly. Then, paws moving swiftly, the big cat stalked quickly away from the group a few paces. Shifting her body into a crouch, her intent eyes focused upon the treeline. Lucette sprang forward, bursting into speed towards her destination. Long legs pumped against the ground and her tail flew outwards, a wild extension. The dark spots blurred to black lines, and stood out against the white of snow. Covering the ground easily, her claws kicked up delicate, light powder as she sped away from the perceived safety of the many. Once at the treeline, Lucette stood, sides heaving from her sprint. Small puffs of white air clouded about her nostrils as she exhaled forcefully. Ever alert for danger, she scanned the area, and into the trees for sign of… of… something unordinary. She took a step forward, then stopped. Skittish. Lucette had to force herself not to bolt back to the safety Zagary offered. There had to be something they could use to their advantage! But the longer she stood alone, and unsupervised in her natural form, the easier it was for the predatory instincts to surface. Each time, they came more readily. Lucette growled low in her throat. Her nose lifted, whiskers twitched to breath in the scents surrounding her, as her eyes strained hopefully to catch the slightest movement.